Page 31 of Enthralled

A woman’s voice sings through the vines around me:“Red blooms the rose in my heart tonight, fair as the dawn, new as the spring.”

Brilliant roses burst into life on all sides, blood-red and flaming. The Thorn Maiden. That’s who this is—one of the Greater Noswraiths, created by one of the most powerful Miphates mages of all time. She’s hungry, violent, insatiable, and somehow she’s escaped her vault and is loose in the palace. What is her name? Gods spare me, I’ve memorized reams of Noswraith names in my time, but I cannot remember what the Thorn Maiden’s true name is. Without that name, she cannot be bound.

I put on speed. The solarium door stands partially open. Rose canes shoot out at me from all sides, but I swing my ax, hacking into them, perfectly aware that my physical body doesn’t possess enough muscular strength to hew through such dense growth. So long as I can write it, I can will it into being here in this parallel realm. Still even my imagination can only do so much. And the Thorn Maiden is hungry after her long imprisonment.

“Red blooms the rose in my heart, tonight,”she sings, her voice coming from everywhere all at once.

I leap for the door just as the briars reach it. Heaving my ax, I carve through those grasping, hand-like thorns and burst into the stone passage beyond. It’s dark here, but not the writhing dark of the Nightmare Realm, not yet at least. Dropping the ax, I whirl, grab the solarium door, and haul it shut with a resoundingboom.The Thorn Maiden shrieks on the far side and bashes the doors again and again.

Then all goes still.

I let out a slow breath. I’m back in my physical body, beyond the reach of the nightmare. For the moment anyway. I squint down at the scrawl of words covering the pages of the little notebook. It’s a potent spell, but it will never hold. I have hours at most, perhaps minutes before the Thorn Maiden breaks out. Grimacing, I slam the book shut. I could almost swear I feel thorns and vines moving under the cover, ready to tear free. What will I do if I meet another Noswraith? I only had this one volume. There are pages left, but I’m not sure it would be wise to try to contain more than one wraith within a single book.

Great gulps of breath heave from my lungs. I look up and down the stone passage. All is quiet. That’s not unusual; the palace has always been sparsely populated. But this quiet feels more significant. It feels like emptiness. As though the whole place is abandoned. How long has it been? How long have I been away? Oh, gods,how long?I shove the notebook into my satchel. I must find them—all of them. My children, my fellow librarians.

“Castien,” I whisper.

“I will come to you.”

My senses quicken. That voice, that memory inside my head . . . it’s haunted me all along, even before my awareness returned.

“From anywhere in all the worlds, I will come. Just call my name.”

I could not remember before, even as my heart and soul longed for him. Now it flickers like a spark inside my head. His true name. His fae name. The name of power which I used to summon him to me once before. If he’s still alive out there somewhere, he will hear it. He will come.

I draw several deep breaths. The air around me is cold, dank, and reeks of nightmares. Perhaps it won’t work. After all Vespre has been cut off from Eledria, set adrift in the Hinter. There might not be enough natural magic left in the atmosphere to activate the Fatebond. If I try, and it doesn’t work, I’m not sure I’ll survive the disappointment. But I’ve got to try.

“Lianthorne,” I whisper, breathing the name out into the air. I can almost see it, curling and delicate as it drifts from my lips. “Lianthorne,if you can hear me, please co—”

A hideous squelching sound pops in my ears.

I know that sound. I don’t know how I know it, but something in me remembers. Slowly I turn.

Something crawls around the corner at the end of the passage. It’s the size of a large dog but shaped vaguely like a man dragging his body along by two sharply-angled arms. One of those arms ends in a stump, while the other boasts a long-fingered hand. The body itself is squat, slug-like. A heavy head hangs from the end of a skinny neck. Everything about it sags, oozes, drips. The Melted Man.

I back away, watching that hideous thing make its aimless way along the passage. It doesn’t seem to be aware of me yet. Is it tracking me? Does it sense my presence? I can’t move, fearful of drawing its attention. My fingers tighten around the fountain pen. I know this one’s name—Yinzidor,a demon from ancient Valaayun mythology. A minor wraith, but deadly after his own fashion.

And I can’t very well stuff him into the same volume as the Thorn Maiden. While I might be able to hold him by the power of his true name, the Greater Noswraith would surely take the opportunity to escape.

The Melted Man dribbles and slurps his way up the passage, his dripping head close to the ground. I hold my breath. If I run, he will see me and he will pursue. If I don’t run, if I stand my ground, is there a chance he’ll turn off into one of the side passages before he reaches me? I don’t have long to decide. He’s getting closer . . . closer . . . soon it will be too late . . .

He looks up. His eyes—one half sunken into his head, the other dripped halfway down his cheek—fix on me. He opens his mouth, long streams of slime parting like teeth.

I take off running.I don’t look back, not even when I hear his gurgling roar and theplop-ploppingsound of his pursuit. Everything in me focuses on flight, on putting some distance between me and this monster. Maybe I can find another book? A loose piece of parchment, something, anything I can use to write on. If not I’m completely at the mercy of this nightmare. I need to reach the library, but I can’t remember the way. All these halls and passages are unfamiliar, as though it’s been a hundred years since last I walked them. I simply cannot remember, not with the Melted Man gaining behind me.

Thunk.

I round a corner and run directly into a wall. Only this wall reaches out and catches me with two strong arms. I’m stunned, dizzy. Shaking my head, I look up and vaguely recognize the shape of one of the troll house guard helmets.

“Noswraith!” I gasp, hardly able to get the word out, too stunned from impact. I point wildly, waving my arm. If those big stone hands weren’t holding me upright, I’d topple over. “Noswraith! Behind me!”

“Korkor.”The growling troldish voice cracks oddly around the word. “There’s lots of wraiths crawlin’ about the place these days.”

Then those strong arms lift me clear off my feet. My unexpected companion sets me behind him, angling his body protectively as he faces down the hall where the Melted Man should appear at any moment. “Wait!” I cry, clutching my would-be rescuer’s arm. “You can’t fight it! You haven’t the means!”

The helmeted head turns and looks down at me. He’s got a small moonfire lantern hung on a chain around his neck, and its pale light illuminates his big, craggy, rock-hard troll face. Small square teeth flash like diamonds when he smiles.

“Don’t worry, littleMar.We’re not alone up here.”

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